


Shake Like The Boughs Of A Willow Tree

by LovesLaboursFound



Category: Harrison Bergeron - Kurt Vonnegut
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, I WRITE WHAT I WANT, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, POV Second Person, also Harrison is aged up, did i begin this in seventh grade when i first fell in love with him?, reader is a ballerina because if everybody is equal then why cant boys be ballerinas Abby Lee Miller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:48:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26703211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovesLaboursFound/pseuds/LovesLaboursFound
Summary: In which you have the first dance.
Relationships: Harrison Bergeron/Original Male Character
Kudos: 1





	Shake Like The Boughs Of A Willow Tree

**Author's Note:**

> alright so quick history lesson: when i was in seventh grade my english teacher mrs. fisher made me read this short story and i lowkey fell in love with him because seven feet tall and i started writing fanfic of it in my journal but i never finished it but i will here let's FUCKing go

2081.

Equal.

Equal before God.

Equal before the law.

Equal before the world.

You stare in the mirror of your cubicle-like dressing room, next door to all the others, a one-to-one ratio of women to men. You are happy that you are equal, because now you can be a ballerina, like you always dreamed. Sometimes, in the few history books the government allowed, you read that people used to say that only girls could be ballerinas, and that made you sad.

But this isn’t that world anymore.

It is a brave, new, and equal world.

And you will have the first dance.

You don your weighs and mask with a smile, and exit.

* * *

It is marvelous.

You move your arms and legs with as much grace as you can, the weights almost seeming lighter than air. Almost. You get ready for the big leap.

Then the sound of wasps fill your ears.

You fall to the floor, the studio lights now blinding. This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

But thankfully, the cameras seem to have stopped. Maybe nobody saw. Or maybe everyone did.

You slowly get up, to see a news announcer standing in front of a camera. He seems heavily excited, but unable to get out the words. In his exasperation, he thrusts the paper he was reading off of to you. The sides are slightly damp from his sweaty palms. You begin to read it, your voice unequally beautiful, even for a young man.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” you begin to say. “I’m sorry.” You apologize for your voice. “Excuse me-“

You make your voice raspy and untrained.

“Harrison Bergeron, age twenty-one, has just escaped from jail, where he was held on suspicion of plotting to overthrow the government. He is a genius and an athlete, is under-handicapped, and should be regarded as extremely dangerous.”

Your body begins to shake. They’re showing a police photograph of him. You can’t even see his face, let alone a glimpse of his skin.

Seven feet tall.

Half blind.

A walking junkyard.

Black caps over his teeth.

He must be hideously beautiful.

You look down. There’s one last line.

“If you see this man, do not - I repeat, do not - try to reason with him.” Your throat is sore.

Suddenly, behind you, a door is ripped from its hinges. People are screaming and running everywhere, tripping on their handicaps. Then a loud bang silences everyone. It sounds like a mallet hitting a steel storage container. Then another. And another.

It’s his footsteps.

You fall to your knees, expecting to die. The knob of the door is still in his hand. The rest of his arm is covered in metal. A slow, shambling, heap of scrap.

“I am the Emperor!” he cries. “Do you hear? I am the Emperor! Everybody must do what I say at once!” He stomps his foot, the force of the impact sending you a few centimeters into the air. You’re more terrified than you’ve ever been in your life.

“Even as I stand here crippled, hobbled, sickened - I am a greater ruler than anyone who has ever lived! Now watch be become what I can become!”

He’s taking off his handicaps. Or maybe they’re taking off him. The metal pieces slowly hit the floor, one by one. The metal bar of his head harness snaps. He crushes his headphones and spectacles in one hand, leaving not a single cut on his skin.

He rivals gods.

“I shall now elect my fellow ruler, for I cannot do this alone. Let the first person who dares rise to their feet claim their mate and their throne!”

Your eyes, your mind, your soul is drawn to him. Nobody else is standing.

They’re all too scared. Who would put themselves in danger just to be with him?

You would.

You slowly get up, your balance skewed by the weights. He looks directly into you.

Reaching out a hand, he pulls out the mental handicap. Rips off your weights. Puts both hands on either side of the mask, and gingerly lifts it away. The cool outside air now feels almost foreign. He smiles.

He takes your hand, saying, “Now, shall we show the people the meaning of the word dance?” His voice is softer now, almost embarrassingly personal. “Music!”

The players scramble to their chairs. “Play your best,” he says with a smirk. “and I’ll make you barons and dukes and earls.”

It was normal at first. Clunky, cheap. Normal. Equal. But then he walks over to them, grabs them by the back of their collars, hums a tune to them, and slams them back. You feel bad, but can’t resist a small chuckle. He walks back, shaking his head in exasperation.

Then the music starts again, and it is truly beautiful. Both of you stand there, holding each other’s hands, listening. You’ve never heard music like this before. Your heartbeats seem to synchronize. The cameras are still on.

You shift your weight to your toes.

He places his big hands on your delicate waist, letting you sense the weightlessness that will soon be yours.

Into the air you spring!

Not only are the laws of the land abandoned, but the laws of gravity and motion. The stars seem to align below you, the floating feeling never leaving your stomach. A great big smile splits your face down the middle, your eyes transfixed on each other. He has a handsome bit of scruff on his chin, matching your own. The pace is dizzying, a whirlwind of movement. Your hair slowly loses its styled shape, falling just above your eyes. he leans his forehead to yours, your minds becoming one, though your body is nearly engulfed by his shadow. You feel like you’re reaching the ceiling, whether it’s the one in the room or the atmosphere is anybody’s guess. He looks in your eyes, and touches his lips to yours.

It’s soft.

He tastes like honeysuckle and cinnamon.

He smells like a forest.

It’s soft, but it goes on for what seems like centuries.

Your hear a shotgun cock. You hear it fire.

All of a sudden, a light fills your bodies. You look down. A large hole has been shot through the ceiling. Whoever it was, they missed. Harrison laughs. You do too. Below you, you hear struggling and what seems to be the sounds of hundreds, perhaps thousands of people shunning their handicaps. The revolution has begun.

* * *

It is years later, and you and Harrison have only gotten closer and more powerful. To most, you are simply brothers. To your comrades who fought alongside you in the revolution, you are two gods meant to be together, in this life and all others.

You remember how his face lit up when you suggested using the lead handicap pellets as ammunition.

You remember the drinking song the people sang as they burned their earpieces.

You remember your beloved friends dying alongside you, and how you and him never seemed to die.

Now the revolution is over, and now you both stand in the ruins of the government, slowly swaying to a nonexistent melody. He kisses you, and you feel so free.


End file.
